Chapter Text
Rose does not understand why people are so afraid of many things. There's death, for one; after all, it is only the body which is destroyed, is it not? One's spirit is free to fly in Heaven after that, and their daemon's atoms scatter to join all the trees and streams and living creatures. What could ever be scary about something so beautiful?
Then again, she supposes that not many other people are in the right state to realize that. Everyone she knows, including her own Dianthus, is always telling her that she's, well...different. For one, she's always felt more at home in the loveliness of the natural world - even Ginger is more interested in using trees as lookout points and rocks as weapons than being still and enjoying the fact that everything is breathing all around. She often feels rather lonely, she must admit, because no one else seems to understand just what she thinks even when they do lend their ears...though she's never truly alone, of course, because Dianthus is always there, and he understands just fine. So being alone doesn't bother her. But oh, if only everyone else could learn to see what she could, to feel the many little connections to all other parts of life that were so obvious to her, then maybe everyone could be wise and kind and happy as she was. The world could be such a better place, is all.
Right now, as she strolls down the familiar woodland path towards Grandmother's house, she has once again been whisked up into the rhythm of life in the forest. She can just feel all the unique energies of every living thing thrumming in her blood vessels and circulating in her lungs - the trees spanning the gap between earth and sky, their leaves drinking in the buttery sunlight and their trunks supporting the mosaics of their canopies like the pillars of the Sistine Chapel; the birds all darting between the trunks and feeling the wind in their silvery feathers as they sing their sweet hymns to the day, from the littlest sparrow to the largest crow; all the little ground animals moving about in the sweet-smelling leaf litter, springing squirrels and slithering snakes and beetles like Dianthus - all part of the chorus of life, the greatest song to ever exist. She saunters along through the shadows and shafts of light, Grandmother's basket swinging gently in her hand, her daemon buzzing and flitting around her head, and nature's violin chords are flowing through her body and gently compelling her feet to waltz across nature's ballroom floor. Sometimes, she feels she can only be herself when she's being everything in the entire forest...
And here comes the point in her journey where she halts, gazes into the mottled depths on one side, and thinks. Her daemon softly warns that maybe leaving the path is not a good idea, maybe this time they will get in big trouble, but she assures him that nothing bad will happen and that they'll get to Grandmother's house like they always do. Why would this gorgeous place suddenly decide to offer her danger when she's always respected it and found nothing but wonders within? That seems to pacify him, and so off they go through the bracken and wildflowers, sinking into the cool shade, letting the beating of life's great heart surround them once more.
***
These are very curious woods, for sure. For all of their mysterious wilderness, they contain plenty of old bits and bobs that could only have come from humans - an old chipped bathtub, a rusted-up car, even a piano that still sounds quite lovely. Rose thinks she should be angry at the fact that not even these woods are safe from human garbage, but for some reason, the little trinkets found here never really feel like pollution; in a strange way, it seems as though they're all just part of the landscape, as if they didn't come from humans after all but rather grew here with all of the trees. It's just one more reason why she loves being in these woods so much; neither she nor her daemon can ever predict what they'll find next.
She stops when she reaches a clearing full of flowers bathed in golden sunlight, and she holds up her hand for Dianthus to land on so he can sit and watch as well. But before he can be comfortable, he must fold away his wings (so small, so delicate, but they carry him just as well as any) and make sure his shiny red wingcases can fit over them without pinching. She supposes he could simply turn into something else and avoid all the trouble, but she knows how much he likes being a ladybird, and she never really minds. In fact, so rarely does he decide to be a different form that some of her sisters suspect that he's either settled or close to it. But whether he is or not, he's hers, and his presence is just one of the many gifts life has given her.
She picks a few of the wild pink blooms for Grandmother, and she continues wandering. And oh, look who she sees: it's the girl in the white dress, peeking out at her from behind a nearby tree. Rose has always thought of her as a sort of faery being, a wood nymph who is as much a part of this forest as any of the plants; her daemon is there, flicking between forms like they're made out of mist, but it's almost as if they aren't a true part of her at all. Maybe she's even a guardian spirit, supposes Dianthus, for these are her woods if anyone's, and Rose feels very honored to be allowed to share in its secrets. Most of the time, the girl just wants to play some sort of game, but sometimes, she'll lead Rose to different places - a little treasure she's never seen before, perhaps, or even back to the path if it's getting too late out. And from the way the other daemon is beckoning to her, that's likely what she wants to do now. So she scampers away, and Rose follows eagerly.
The girl in white stops ahead, and when Rose catches up, she finds - oh, how dreadful a sight. The corpse of a bird lies naked and bloodied on a tree stump before her, and on the ground nearby, she finds a solitary feather, a forlorn testament to how a creature was stripped of all its gifts. She picks the feather up and closes her eyes for a moment of silent mourning, Dianthus flying over to her fingers to comfort her as best as he can. Not only do humans fail to understand nature, but in their lack of understanding, they choose to hurt other living beings, even for the sake of silly things like trophies; surely, these actions could only come from the powers of darkness, twisting corruptible people to turn against animals with no concern at all for what their daemons might think. Rose herself could never imagine killing any sort of insect, nor does she like it when her sisters squish the ones they find indoors, for how could she bear to kill something so like her own dear soul? She tries so hard to hope for humanity, but she's well aware that her own kind is desperately lost, and it pains her. She lays the feather gently on the poor bird's hide, and she and her daemon solemnly turn away.
The nymph girl has disappeared, but Rose feels no worry, for even when death and cruelty are present, these woods do not feel threatening. And before long, they come across another new wonder: a lone red balloon, full and floating but unable to fly off because its string is caught in the underbrush. She takes the string in her hand and tugs the balloon along as she keeps walking, thinking maybe she can find something to cut the string away with, but she only takes a few steps before suddenly - pop! She stares in bewilderment at the limp string and shriveled pieces of rubber, Dianthus peeking out from where he's darted behind her curtain of hair. And it's strange, but for some reason, perhaps the earlier instance of sadness, she feels something more than mild disappointment: it's such a shame how this balloon had to die before it could be freed to explore the heavens, so sad how its body so violently gave up its breath before it could be used, and her mind lingers on this tragic fact. At least when daemons pop, she thinks, their pieces may float out to become a part of everything again; all daemons, even those who have no wings, get to fly in the very end. Sometimes, Rose thinks she wishes she were a daemon herself, but Dianthus always interrupts her before she can decide, telling her to be glad that she was born a human.
On they go. Rose notices a bright light way off in the distance, and Dianthus wonders how late it's getting; she knows he's hoping for their guide to re-appear, because he's never once stopped thinking of the basket which she just now notices is still in her hand. Rose doesn't want to leave, she really wants to stay and be lost for just a while longer, but she doesn't feel like being contrary right now; she tells him they'll just look for the girl in white and then be on their way, and he agrees. So they head in the direction of the bright light, waiting every moment as they walked for the girl and her ethereal daemon to drift into view and take them home.
***
They've been walking for a very long time now, and they haven't yet caught one glimpse of the girl. Instead, there is fog all around, having gradually gathered as they've went until they could no longer see past the trees around them. But that's not all that is different, Rose notes; she can also feel the ground growing damper through her thin cloth boots, and there's a notable chill in the congested air, and she thinks she can hear the rippling of water nearby. Both she and her daemon know that they're nowhere near Grandmother's house, but for some reason, Rose doesn't feel one bit worried; this new place feels so strange, but there's also this sense of tranquility within her - like the familiarity one feels when they come home, only felt in her spirit and much more profound. Dianthus nervously creeps under her hair again, but she ignores him and walks on.
Then they find it: the fog seems to thin a bit, and they find themselves in a sort of marsh, where reeds are clustered all around and water pools in the soggy earth. It seems darker here than it does in the rest of the forest, and right as Rose considers it, a low growl of thunder rumbles all around - hello and welcome! she answers in her thoughts, and indeed she feels a few raindrops patter on her skin there and then. And up ahead, still shrouded in thin veils of swirling mist, lies the still gray surface of a lake - she just knows it must be larger than a pond, she can sense the vastness of its expanse. No wonder this feels so familiar, Rose thinks, for she could swear that she saw this place in her dreams; the softness and quiet all around, the depths of water to sit by and comprehend, the rain that now pours earnestly down and washes any badness away, all of it is just too perfect to be coincidence. Perhaps this place is where her home truly lies, no matter how anxious her daemon sounds as he whispers for her to leave this place and go on to Grandmother's. She lays the basket down beside a tree and pads slowly over to the shore.
The mists that drift over the lake's placid surface seem to welcome her at the water's edge, curling around her in loose tendrils as she gazes out into the haze. As they do so, Rose thinks she can feel some of their particles actually curling into her; she feels so light, almost made of mist herself, as if she could leave the ground with the barest push of her toes and go sailing out over the vast lake. And if Rose follows the vaporous trails, she can even make out what seems to be their source - a strange sort of cloud, twisting and swirling in the lake's foggy veil, at once enthralling her with the mysterious aura it emits. It's a shame that Dianthus cannot seem to see the strange wonder all around - now a trembling mouse clutching tight to her shoulder, he keeps telling her that this place feels wrong, that the cloud being seems dangerous, that they must leave and find their guide immediately. If only he can understand what it means to Rose that she's found this little shore, where nature is at perfect peace and where she can pretend to fly. She continues along the bank, almost drifting like the enchanting mists, wishing more and more that she could depart from the shore to float away.
And over there, hiding behind a clump of reeds, she sees it - a little boat floating patiently by the bank, waiting to ferry her off. At once, Dianthus goes hysterical, clinging to her body with raccoon arms as he pleads for her not to get in that awful boat, but she barely notices. All she wants, all she's ever wanted, is to step inside and let it take her out over the water's depths, where the clouds can embrace her, where she can at last be free. So she wades into the water with the stubborn daemon in a frenzy trying to pull her away, and at last she has to rip the hem of her dress from his bear jaws before stepping inside and taking a seat. He remains on the bank, now blubbering and wailing for her to please come back, but she simply stares at him. She's going to be free.
The boat, with neither oars nor mooring tether, begins to drift slowly out, out into the mists, out into a magical beyond. Rose's soul is being pulled from within her, but she can feel only a dull throbbing for all of the fog in her body, and when she sees the cloud-man dissolving from the haze to approach her, wreathed in unimaginable benevolence and wisdom, she knows she is finally free...